


Mental Static

by YourCoolBroKat



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:10:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourCoolBroKat/pseuds/YourCoolBroKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pretty quick fic, trying to show Brian's (and then Hoodie's) side of the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mental Static

It started out like almost every other disease.

Of course, you wouldn’t think it would be the type of disease that’s contagious—that is, of course, why it was always too late when they figured it out. But it was, and at first, it didn’t seem like much. First was the coughing. A cold, he thought—just a cold. But it didn’t go away. Next was the irritability. He found himself getting angrier and angrier all the time. At things that no normal person would think to get angry at. Then there was the memory loss. He started forgetting whole days. He tried reasoning with himself, trying to shrug it off. A lack of real nutrition, probably. He _was_ in college, after all. And then came the paranoia.

He found himself looking behind his shoulder. They were following him. They were watching him. It was watching him. And he found himself shaking his head— _“it”_? No, he just had a cold. A really long cold. He was only irritable because it wasn’t going away, that was all. There was nobody watching him—well, no _thing_. And he thought, _“As if what I’m worried about isn’t human?”_ but he just shrugged it off. Again. He didn’t like to worry, and he was afraid that if he worried, he may discover he had reason to.

But then. His paranoia got too much to handle. He bought a camera. _“Maybe if I can prove to myself that there’s nothing watching me, I’ll stop being paranoid,”_ he reasoned with himself. He watched the tapes after he recorded, to test himself, to finally shrug it off. And that’s when he saw it.

_It._

It saw him. It knew he was there. An intense fear drove itself into his heart. A static drove itself into his brain.

He couldn’t think straight. Every time he saw something electronic, he would think something like—the people on the radio could hear him, or—the people on the TV can see him—opposite of their real functions. It was similar to a headache, but not quite. There was a fuzz in the back of his mind; white noise where past conversations should be, glitches where memories ought to be. Part of him knew that it couldn’t be real, shouldn’t be real. But his fear told him that _it saw you, it sees you_ , and that part was too strong to control.

He couldn’t live his life like normal anymore. His job was the first to go. He couldn’t remember that he had even had one for about a week or so. He knew that all of this had to do with Tim—somehow. But it wasn’t Tim’s fault, and he could _help_ it—somehow. But even that faded into static, into fuzz, until a vague feeling of companionship and the memory of Tim’s face were all that remained of his good friend—in his mind at least.

He couldn’t remember any names. Not even his own. But he knew that he had to protect himself. He wore gloves, a hood, a mask, a coat—even through the heat of—whatever state he lived in. The glitches and static started turning into codes. He saw them everywhere. Hiding. Like him, and like _it_. Waiting for the right moment. The house he resided in was ransacked, but it wasn’t for nothing—he was trying, trying _so hard_ , to find _it_ , or find the one that spread it—(whose photographs were spread across the floor, vague memories of betrayal running amok through his mind—) and to find the ark.

The ark was important. The ark was the end. The ark was something, someplace—full of all the memories they had lost to glitches and white noise, the radio static of their minds. It was the end-all be-all. His companion knew it, though only half the time—and half the time he was clever enough to wear his protection. His companion wasn’t the same as _him_ —a matter of one turning to one versus a matter of one splitting to two. But it was alright. The other half of his companion had the weaponry. The pills. _It_ couldn’t fight the pills. Besides, he was used to numbers.

Of course, his companion _had_ disappeared—for a while. He forgot himself as his other half got better. _Good_ , he thought, _good_. That’s what his companion had wanted in the first place. To get better. To help. For him, though? It was too late for that. His only escape now was to find the ark. And he knew just the person to lead him there. 


End file.
